


The Winds Of Change

by PocketSizedWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PocketSizedWolf/pseuds/PocketSizedWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Molly discover one another, but nothing ever runs smoothly. Sherlolly things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time it had happened was following Sherlock's shocking discovery. He'd slumped into her flat, visibly upset in the middle of the night. She'd moved him to the sofa and sat him down, pouring him tea, not even caring that he was seeing her in her nightshirt, until he'd finally opened up to what had got him in such a mood.

"He's getting married.." he'd said, and she'd raised an eyebrow. "To.. Mary whatshername"  
"Morstan"  
"Yes.. The teacher." he'd grumbled bitterly, sipping at his tea. The relationship between John and Sherlock had been strained for the past few months, since he'd revealed that he'd faked his death, but slowly it was getting back to normal, how they'd always been, John and Sherlock solving crimes together. Until, that was, they'd been hired by a school teacher who's father had mysteriously vanished. John had become smitten instantly but unlike all the other women he'd been with, Mary was different. In Sherlock's opinion, John was putting his relationship with Mary before his friendship with Sherlock, and Sherlock was struggling to come to terms with the fact that he was now second best in the eyes of his best friend.  
"He's not abandoning you.." Molly said softly after a few moments. "Besides, you'll always have me.." she giggled slightly in that way that she did when she was nervous, and something in Sherlock's head seemed to click. She was right, of course. He always had her. He leaned forward and placed his mug down on the coffee table, before taking her hands in his. His thumbs lightly stroked the skin on the back of her hands and she looked at him curiously.  
"You're right... I always have you.." he leaned towards her, keeping hold of her hands, and pressed his lips to hers. She hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding heavily until she eventually relaxed and kissed him back.

His fingers brushed over the hem of her nightshirt as hers ran down his shirt, slowly popping open the buttons one by one until it was completely unbuttoned. She pulled back from the kiss to look at him, feasting her eyes just in case this never happened again. Once she was satisfied, she kissed over his chest, her fingers pushing his shirt from his shoulders. He chuckled softly, pressing his lips to the top of her head before slowly working her nightshirt off. She pulled back and pulled it over her head, throwing it to the floor without a care, before immediately pressing her lips back to his. Her fingers worked at his belt, tugging it open.

They were soon naked, their lips pressed together as they kissed hotly. She could feel his erection pressed against her thigh and his fingers brushed over her nipples, his hands cupping her breasts, feeling her, memorising every inch. She shifted herself slightly so that the tip of his cock was at her entrance, and paused, waiting for him to make the move.

Sherlock took a deep breath. He'd never gotten this far with anyone and it was, he decided, perfect that it was Molly who was about to take his virginity. He felt the slight shiver of nerves run up his spine, but he wanted this. He wanted her. His fingers moved to her hips and he lightly pulled her down as he raised his hips, pushing himself deeply into her; an action that caused a soft gasp to escape her lips. He loved that noise and couldn't help but smile as she made it. She pressed her lips to his, her tongue parting his lips and slipping into the warmth of his mouth, tasting him. He tasted like tea and nicotine gum, and something else. Something she rather enjoyed. Her hips moved against his as she rode him slowly, their tongues dancing together.

She knew he was approaching his climax when his fingers gripped her hips, moving her faster. Her clit brushed against his length sending spark after spark of pleasure coursing through her body. He groaned and arched his back as he came deep within her, the very feeling pushing her over the edge and triggering her own. As they came down from their high, they cuddled, his strong arms holding her tight, his lips moving against her temple. As she drifted off to sleep, a sofa throw tossed over the pair as she snuggled against his chest, he watched her, quietly deciding that he did, in fact, love Molly Hooper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It happened fairly frequently after the first time. At least once a week he would grace her flat, and occasionally she would grace his. They would sit talking until the early hours of the morning, make love, spend hours exploring one another's bodies. Sherlock found he actually enjoyed the physical stimulation in a way that he had never thought possible.  
"What are we?" he asked her one day, taking her by surprise. She looked up from the book she'd been studying, and tilted her head  
"I.. don't know.."  
"Are we dating?"  
"I.. well we're enjoying one another's company"  
"I think I want to marry you." he said, looking down at her. She blinked, opening her mouth to speak but there were no words. She frowned.  
"What?"  
He smiled, shifting to pull a small box out of his pocket, opening it. "Will you marry me, Molly Hooper?"  
She looked down at the ring. Diamonds. Perfect. Everything she'd dreamed of as a child, but of course it would be. It was Sherlock Holmes after all.  
"Yes.. Of course I will." she smiled, kissing him deeply as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning of John's wedding, Molly was distracted. Sherlock noticed immediately, but she wouldn't tell him what was wrong.  
"Today is John's day" she told him every time he asked. They stood together as John said his vows, Sherlock playing the dutiful best man, though Molly could tell he was hating every minute. They danced together for the first time that evening, and as their bodies pressed together, Sherlock dipped his head.  
"Will you tell me?" he asked softly, his lips pressed to her ear. She could hardly deny him the news much longer and nodded, taking his hand and leading him from the reception room and out into the gardens. The diamond on her ring finger sparkled under the fairy lights in the trees.  
"Molly, what is it?" he asked, taking her hands in his.  
"I'm pregnant.."

Sherlock's face dropped as a million thoughts filled his head and then quickly vanished, leaving him with nothing. He had no words, there was nothing he could say. Instead, he cupped her cheeks, kissing her deeply, passionately.  
"This is becoming very.. normal.." he chuckled as he pulled back, stroking her cheek gently.  
"Well you know what they say, Sherlock.." he frowned, shaking his head. "If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we aren't really living... Embrace it. You might actually find that you like a bit of normality.."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock barely left her side from that day on, worried that something would happen to her. They'd married not long after she'd told him the news, in a quiet ceremony at the Register office, attended only by John, Mary, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. Mycroft had sent gifts, but they remained unopened on Sherlock's desk. When he needed to go on a case, he made Mrs Hudson stay with her, making sure nothing happened. John laughed about it often, how Sherlock had gone from not caring to caring too much. Sherlock didn't find it amusing in the slightest.  
"He has a point.." Molly had said when he'd told her the whole story. Sherlock looked over her, sitting on the sofa and looking as though she was ready to burst. He smiled, so very full of love for his forensic pathologist. He shrugged.  
"I just don't want anything to happen to you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She woke in the middle of the night in pain, calling out for Sherlock. The bedroom door was immediately thrown open, and the consulting detective was soon by her side, helping her from the bed.  
"Is it that time?" he asked, feeling her nails digging into his shoulder. He took that as a yes.

He'd not been prepared for the screaming, despite the amount of research he'd done on the subject of childbirth. He was also surprised by the strength Molly had as she gripped hold of his hand, he could swear it was about to break. Eventually, 16 hours after it had all started, the midwife was handing a tiny baby girl to Sherlock.

He looked down at the child, who looked so much like her mother but with Sherlock's eyes and hair, and found himself filled with more love than he ever thought was capable of a human being. He smiled as she gripped his finger, and softly planted a kiss upon the child's head.  
"She's beautiful.." he whispered softly, before his thoughts were distracted by chaos behind him. He frowned as he turned, looking to the scene with pure horror as doctors moved towards his wife. The defibrillator was out. Why was the defibrillator out? He couldn't work it out. He placed the baby into the clear plastic cots that hospitals used and moved towards Molly.

"Time of death, 5:34pm" he heard, though it sounded weird, echoey, like it was happening hundreds of miles away and yet, Molly, his Molly. Her hand had fallen to the side of the bed, limp. Her eyes were closed, her body wasn't moving. Sherlock dropped to her side, taking her hand in his. She was growing colder.  
"No.." he whispered softly, pressing her hand to his lips. "Molly, wake up.."


	2. Chapter 2

"Her heart gave out. When she was giving birth, her pulse was growing weaker. We should have spotted it."  
"Indeed you should have" Mycroft Holmes glared at the hospital's legal aid, before glancing at his brother. Sherlock had gotten thin over the past few days. He wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping, barely spoke. He'd only come to this meeting because Mycroft had forcibly dragged him to it.  
"The hospital is willing to pay out compensation in the amount of £3,500,000"  
"You think money means anything?" Sherlock snapped, getting to his feet "You've taken her away.. Your money is useless" He pulled open the door and stormed from the room. Mycroft looked up and forced a somewhat weak smile at the lawyer.  
"He'll take it.."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The detective lay on his back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.  
"At least hold her.." John's voice echoed in his head and he gave his best friend a quick glance. John looked tired, perhaps as tired as Sherlock felt, though probably not. In his arms he held the tiny, week old baby. Sleeping, Sherlock noted. She'd done a lot of that. He envied his daughter. She hadn't known Molly, and she wasn't old enough to have functional thoughts so she couldn't miss her. All she cared about was having a full stomach, a warm place to sleep and a clean nappy, and she currently had all three.  
"No.. I'm busy.."  
"You're not busy, Sherlock. Stop acting like a machine. You might have lost your wife, but this little girl has lost her mother. Jeez, you've not even given her a name yet."  
Sherlock stiffened, before closing his eyes. "I need to think. Take her downstairs to Mrs Hudson."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The funeral came all too quickly, and Sherlock wasn't sure he'd actually attend. What was the point in it? Her family had insisted on it being held in a church, but he didn't believe in God and Heaven and other ridiculous notions. He knew Molly hadn't either, they'd discussed it at length. Nevertheless, he carried her coffin down the church aisle as they'd requested, each step feeling heavier than the last until she was laid at the head of the room, her casket open. He gazed down at her beautiful face, ignoring everything that was happening around him.  
"Please wake up.." he whispered softly, waiting for a few minutes as though she might adhere to his request as she so often did. Eventually, he felt John's hand on his arm, and allowed himself to be moved towards the pews.

He moved to the podium beside the coffin when the vicar announced that he was to do a reading. He'd not wanted to. He didn't want to buy into any second of this funeral, because if he did, it would make everything far too real. But due to respect for her, he couldn't let them take her away from him without telling the world what she'd meant to him.

"Molly was..." he paused, looking into the faces in the crowd. Everyone was mourning, the place was full. He should have felt touched, but instead he just felt completely numb. Today, Sherlock Holmes wished he'd never learned to love his mousy pathologist. "She was the love of my life. Molly Hooper.. or Holmes as she eventually was.. taught me more about myself than anyone else ever has. And I knew her better than anyone.. She'd hate this. Hate every second of this funeral because we're all feeling pain, and Molly would do anything and everything in her power to prevent another person feeling pain. The thought of causing pain to another human being, or animal, or- anything, caused her physical pain. She killed a plant once and cried for three days.." he couldn't help but laugh softly at the memory. "No, she was brilliant, and kind, and so very selfless, and mine.." he paused, his long fingers gripping the wood of the podium. He looked up towards John, hoping to find some strength in the face of his best friend, but John was broken, tears streaming down his cheeks. "She was mine, and I was hers completely.. And I will miss her every day for the rest of my life.. I'll miss the way she used to light up the room without even knowing it, and the way she cried every time she heard Two Little Boys by Rolf Harris. I'll miss watching her baking, and watching her working, and lying beside her as she sleeps.."

He could feel the tears building now. Real, genuine tears. The kind of tears he'd not felt form since he faked his own death. But he didn't want to cry, not here, not in front of all of these people. "My darling Molly saved my life.. and now she's been taken from me.. and it's just not fair!" he closed his eyes and moved from behind the podium. He hadn't said everything he wanted to about his darling Molly but he didn't care. "Why are we doing this?" he frowned, anger simmering just beneath the surface, anger at the painful feelings she had forced him to feel "Heaven doesn't exist, she's not in a better place. There's no place better for her than here, with me.. She didn't even believe in God, it's as if none of you knew her at all.." He needed to get out of there. He made his way down the aisle, storming out of the church doors and catching a taxi back to Baker Street.

"What the hell was that?" John demanded as he burst through the door to the flat, glaring at his friend. "I get that you're upset, Sherlock, but Molly's parents.. that was their comfort, and you do that?"  
Sherlock looked towards his friend but didn't answer. He had nothing to say.  
"Oh fine, sit there in silence. I get it, Sherlock, alright? I get that you're heartbroken but this is NOT the best way to handle it."  
"Oh and what is, Doctor Watson?" Sherlock frowned, steepling his fingers together.  
"Talk-Talk to me. Tell me about your feelings. Let them out in a constructive way. Hold your daughter! Write... poetry. Anything. But not anger. Anger isn't constructive."  
"I don't CARE about constructive, John. I don't care about poetry, and talking to you isn't going to make me feel any better about not having her here."  
"Then focus on your daughter."  
"I can't." Sherlock hissed, pressing his forehead into his palms. He inhaled deeply.  
"Why not? She needs you. Otherwise, she has no one.."  
"Because I can't."  
"That's not an answer, Sherlock" John towered over his friend, glaring at him. He understood why Sherlock was upset, he really did. John had liked Molly. Over the past two years, as she and Sherlock had grown closer, he'd gotten to know her, she'd become his friend. And now she was gone, and John understood, he did, that she'd left a hole too big to fill. But no child deserved the neglect Sherlock was giving his daughter.  
"Yes it is!"  
"You're being ridiculous."  
"I'm not. I can't"  
"Why won't you just hold her?"  
"Because she looks like Molly." Sherlock snapped, leaning back in the chair and looking up at John. "She looks like her mother.. and it kills me to know that she'll never get to meet her. I'm not good enough for her, John. She needed Molly, I needed Molly. She made me better and now.. I'm nothing."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"She needs a name, Sherlock.." Mycroft sat in Sherlock's armchair holding his niece, watching his younger brother with worried eyes. It had been just over a month since Molly's death, and Sherlock hadn't gone out since her funeral. John had moved back into 221b to keep an eye on him, and force him to eat, but Sherlock barely touched a morsel.  
"Have you even held her yet?" Mycroft asked after a few moments.  
"No, he hasn't.." John moved from the kitchen, carrying a tray of tea. He placed it down on the table before picking up his own cup, taking a sip.  
"She needs to be registered in 3 days, Sherlock. It's a legal requirement. She's lost her parents, at least give the poor child a name."  
"She's only lost her mother, Mycroft, don't be ridiculous." Sherlock snapped, frowning at his older brother. John couldn't help but smile. Sherlock snapping at Mycroft meant there was a chance he was beginning to get his best friend back.  
"No, Sherlock.. You're hardly being a father, now, are you?" the detective growled at Mycroft words and moved to take the baby from his brother. She fit perfectly into his arms and Sherlock sighed as he looked down into her blue eyes, full of wonder as his used to be. Mycroft was right, of course, he'd been no sort of father.  
"She needs a name, Sherlock.." Mycroft's voice made him tear his eyes from his daughter's and look towards his brother.  
"Isabelle.. Her name's Isabelle." he looked back down at the baby, moving to sit on the sofa. "Isabelle Marie Holmes.."


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you think of Isabelle?"  
"Isabelle who?" Sherlock frowned, glancing at Molly. She lay back on the sofa with a baby names book in her hand. Her feet lay on Sherlock's lap and he found himself giving her a foot massage without really thinking about it.  
"For a name, Sherlock.." she rolled her eyes, before smiling softly at him. She watched as his long fingers gently massaged her left foot.  
"Oh.. I don't like it."  
"Why not?"  
"Too long."  
"We can shorten it to Izzy.."  
"Izzy Holmes?" the detective raised an eyebrow before frowning. "I still don't like it."  
"Fine, you pick something." Sherlock opened his mouth "Not Madeline"  
"But-- why?"  
"I told you. I was bullied by a girl named Madeline."  
"Oh. Right"  
"Besides, you know I want to give her my mum's name as a middle name, and Madeline Marie has too many m's." Sherlock chuckled at her reasoning, before leaning towards her planting a soft kiss on her forehead.  
"Can we think about this later? Maybe it'll come to us when we see her?" he said softly. She nodded, leaning up and kissing him softly on the lips.

He opened his eyes and stared down at the baby who lay sleeping on his chest. She was getting bigger every day, and as she grew she began to look more and more like Molly. He sighed softly as he ran his fingers through her thick, curly hair. His hair, he noted as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. The past few months had been difficult, more difficult than he cared to remember. With Molly gone, he'd turned back to cocaine to attempt to rid himself of the feelings. It worked at first, but the time of blissful unfeeling grew shorter and shorter and in the end, he found it wasn't even worth his trouble. That, and John had found out and forced him to go cold turkey before Mycroft claimed custody of his daughter. John was still staying with Sherlock, something Mary wasn't happy about but never once protested, in front of Sherlock at least. There was an odd feeling between John and Mary that Sherlock had picked up on, but he'd not said anything, never asked, and John had never told, so it remained an unspoken awkwardness between the two men.

Isabelle picked up everything quickly, something that both surprised Sherlock and didn't really surprise him at all. What surprised him most, though, was the feeling of happiness it gave him when she started walking, or when her words became more like actual words. He was surprised mainly because he never thought he'd feel happiness again, it felt like a foreign concept now, but with every passing day, and every new milestone his daughter reached, the emptiness he felt seemed further and further away.

"Why don't you start taking cases again?" John asked one evening, the night before Isabelle's first birthday. Sherlock watched as Mrs Hudson iced a birthday cake, leaning against the kitchen work top.  
"I suppose that could be.. beneficial" he shrugged, picking up his mug of tea and taking a quick sip. "But I'd have to find someone reliable to look after Isabelle."  
"Oh don't worry about that.." Mrs Hudson looked up at Sherlock as she finished off a flower made of red icing. "I can take care of her."  
Sherlock smiled, kissing his landlady on the cheek. "Then I'll see if Lestrade needs help with anything."

The stabbing pain in his heart slowly became a dull throb, but he felt it every day. Every time he glanced at his daughter out of the corner of his eyes, every time she looked up at him, her eyes wide, her features so completely Molly's. Sherlock loved Isabelle completely, and he reminded himself to tell her every day. Over the years, things changed. John and Mary split up and John moved back into 221b, Isabelle started school, and Sherlock found himself in the centre of a whirlwind of changes.

"You've handled this well.." John said, one afternoon. Sherlock looked to his old friend with an eyebrow raised.  
"Handled what well?"  
"All the change over the past few years. You used to be "Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective who hated it when anything changed". You'd get really grumpy if even the slightly change inconvenienced you. And now, you're... adapting. It's really rather impressive."  
Sherlock smiled, looking down at a 8 year old Isabelle as she lay on the rug, reading one of Sherlock's science text books.  
"Molly said something to me once.. I suppose it's stuck with me all these years." John tilted his head, watching his friend. Mousy Molly Hooper had done more than she realised, he bet. "She said 'If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we aren't really living... Embrace it.' I suppose I've just.. done my best to honour her wish in that department."  
John nodded. Oh Molly Hooper had been more wise than he'd realised. With a smile, he patted Sherlock on the shoulder.  
"For what it's worth, I think Molly would be really proud of the way you've handled everything."


	4. Chapter 4

Before he knew it, Isabelle was a teenager, full of teenage rebellion. She'd cut her long hair into a stylish bob, started going by 'Izzy' and secretly gotten her naval pierced, thinking that Sherlock wouldn't pick up on it. He had. Immediately. And yet, he never had the heart to confront her about it. Let her live out her rebellion, he thought, he had people watching her, she was safe, and if he'd had the chance to rebel, he may not have turned to drugs.

Izzy was, thankfully, not as much like Sherlock as he'd feared she'd be. She had Molly's social skills and his intelligence and was quite a nice little package of a person. She was kind and sweet, and adored her father, despite his obvious bluntness. She even found a soft spot for Mycroft, despite Sherlock's name calling about his idiot brother.

Sherlock watched her with a smile as she headed out of the door for her prom, dressed in the loveliest shade of blue he thought he'd ever seen. Being a father had softened him, and he wasn't entirely sure it was a bad thing. After she'd gone, he moved into his bedroom and lay down on the bed, brushing his fingers over Molly's pillow as he pulled his face into it. It had been 16 years since she'd slept on it, and the smell must have faded, yet Sherlock could still smell her shampoo as though she'd slept on it a few hours ago. He closed his eyes, burying his face deep in the pillow.

"Sherlock.. baby.. wake up.." he opened his eyes and sat up. There was no mistaking that voice and he shuddered slightly. He looked her in the eye, his blue meeting her deep brown. He could feel his eyes widening as he took in her face, his fingers reaching out and brushing through her hair.  
"H-how are you here?" he asked with a frown "Am I dead?"  
"For a while, I thought you were.." she laughed softly, handing him a sandwich "You came in from a case, went to bed and passed out for five days.. Why are you shaking?"  
The detective looked down at his hands and frowned. It had all seemed real, so real, he'd felt every day, every heartbreaking minute of his life without Molly. Continuing to scan her body, he noticed the large bump of her abdomen.  
"You-you were dead"  
"What?"  
"I.. it must have been a dream, you.. you died."  
"I died?" she frowned, her eyes widening as Sherlock dropped the sandwich onto the bed and pulled her into the most Earth shattering kiss she'd ever felt. She felt him pushing her down onto the bed, kissing every inch of her face. "Sherlock, your sandwich.." she laughed as she pulled back a little, looking up at him.  
"I don't care about a sandwich... You're still here.." he smiled, looking down at her.  
"I'll always be here.. Will you eat something.. you're worrying me."

Sherlock looked down at the newborn baby with a smile.  
"I think we should name her Isabelle."  
"You hated that name when I mentioned it last time.." Molly smiled at him from her spot on the sofa. Oh she was glad to be home, she'd hated hospitals and, despite the pain from her caesarian scar, she felt much more comfortable at 221b Baker Street.  
"I changed my mind.." he sat down beside her, shuffling the baby into one arm while wrapping his other around Molly. He planted a soft kiss against her temple and took a mental picture of that very moment. "It's grown on me.."  
Molly looked down at their baby girl and nodded. "Alright.. Isabelle it is."  
"I love you, Molly" Sherlock said softly after a few minutes of silence. Molly tore her eyes from the sleeping baby in his arms and looked up at him.  
"I love you too, Sherlock"


End file.
